


Homewards

by S_Winter_Fitzgerald



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Coming Back, England - Freeform, Gen, Home, Journey, MFMM Year of Quotes, Quote, Terry Pratchett - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-04-30 00:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Winter_Fitzgerald/pseuds/S_Winter_Fitzgerald
Summary: Phryne has returned to London and this trip has lead her to think about 'home' and where it is.My contribution to April's Challenge of MFMM Year of Quotes.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

> " _Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." –A Hat Full of Sky, Terry Pratchett_
> 
> **Chapter 1**

She looked up, trying to encompass as much of the white stucco-fronted townhouse as she could in a single glance. Phryne hadn't been to Chester Square in more than two years but everything seemed rather unchanged.  _As it ought to be_ , she found herself thinking, perhaps uncharitably.

«Phryne», a familiar voice beckoned from the open door, a strange mixture of surprise and relief tingeing its sound.

Miss Fisher looked at her mother. Given that Margaret had taken after their mother's family looks and Prudence had taken after their father's, their common parentage shone through the perceptive brown eyes and the determination in the set line of their mouths instead of shared physical traits. Margaret was taller and her hair hadn't lightened very much yet - dark grey waves framed an oval face with the regal cheekbones which Phryne had inherited.

Phryne smiled. Their relationship hadn't always run smoothly but she was truly glad to see her mother, particularly after all this time.

«Welcome…», some word seemed poised to follow that but Margaret said «Oh, do come in, Phryne», instead, her right hand motioning towards the hall.

Miss Fisher kissed her mother on the cheek before walking in, a gesture that had first surprised Margaret but made her smile afterwards. At heart, Phryne had always been an affectionate child and it was always pleasant (and pride-inducing, she would confess) to see that life and its sometimes rough course hadn't changed that in her daughter. As if that kiss had carried some implicit permission, Margaret put her hand on Phryne's back and even if there wasn't any reason why she would, not in those circumstances at least and as far as she knew, relief took over her when Phryne didn't recoil at her touch. How could she had been only twenty when Phryne had been born? It all seemed to have taken place many lifetimes ago, and maybe it had.

«We'll have tea now, Hewitt», Margaret said to the man holding the door open, not knowing exactly how to follow up with Phryne – not for lack of words, quite the contrary.

He nodded and wanted for them to be in the hall before he could close the door and have the necessary arrangements made.

Phryne took stock of the hall – the black and white checkered floor, the tasteful medallion on the ceiling, and the wooden polished staircase covered by a well-maintained burgundy runner that led upwards. She didn't exactly mean to, but Phryne knew that most steps taken in that house, and probably most of the steps taken in London even, would be laden with comparisons and memories and meaning, which in some cases could be as simple as 'I haven't been here for two years'. It was a rather odd feeling given that she wasn't sure she would call that house and the places that made up her own map of London 'home'.

Margaret went up the stairs and Phryne followed her to the drawing room. It was a large and airy area despite the many paintings on the cream wallpapered walls and the solid dark furniture, most of it bought specifically for the house when the 4th Baron Fisher had taken the lease of the house from the aristocratic Grosvenor family.

Her mother sat on the green sofa in front of the lit fireplace while Phryne moved to the twin windows overlooking the garden. She recalled the thrill of getting the key, opening the gate and walking into it as if she were entering some fairly land. At 14, she had felt too old for that sort of musings sometimes, but she did enjoy sitting on the bench by the oldest plane tree or by the central rose garden and listen to the birds flying over her head, reading a book, imaging what she would do in her future or, much to her parents' dismay if not horror, put on a pair of trousers and climb the trees, a feat that had lead a handful of ruffled neighbours to that same drawing room she was standing in.  _Tree climbing in Chester Square? Not even the gardeners do so – there are ladders, for goodness' sake._

 _Janey would have loved that garden, its green dome and shrubbery walls, inviting stories of adventures in unknown worlds._ If they had been able to come up with them in the dreary backyard of their dreary house in Collingwood, it would have been even easier and more pleasant to do so in such enchanting surroundings. Janey would also have loved the house, the wonderful setting to being a queen, an admiral back home after a long trip, or – particularly inspired by a collection of Gothic literature Margaret had brought from her girlhood house – a rich and mysterious widow. Phryne's eyes started to water. She wiped them with the tip of her gloved fingers and took a deep breath. She always got a bit wistful when she looked at the house like this.

Picture frames dotted the table on her right, moments that had been deemed important or beautiful or happy to commit to something tangible: Margaret and Prudence before they had gotten married, bright and hopeful young girls despite the stiff poses and the frilly dresses; the three Fishers sitting outside of Brentby, the family's country seat; Margaret and Henry's wedding day, a simple but lovely affair that only Aunt Prudence and Uncle Edward had witnessed due to the bride's parents' staunch opposition to the match; Phryne on her 18th birthday, a vision in a Poiret dress which had scandalised the older guests in spite of its streamlined design and because it was black and worn without a 'proper' corset; her parent's silver anniversary; the Stanleys in a visit they had paid to England; the day Phryne had been presented in court. Snippets of the Past within arm's reach.

Phryne picked up a photograph taken when she was twelve and Janey ten years old. She remembered that day well, a treat to celebrate Janey's birthday. They had been so excited – they had never had their picture taken before (while made more accessible over the latter years, theirs wasn't exactly a household with money to spare) and the process seemed wondrous to their curious minds. Taking the few pictures that existed at their house, serious grandparents they had never met and parents they couldn't imagine ever had been young, they trained their poses insistently, just to be disappointed by Mr. Appleton's direct and uninspired instructions regarding how they should position themselves - just standing side by side in front of a white wall. It seemed to lack the dignity they were expecting, despite being clad in their Sunday best dresses with their hair neatly pulled back and tied with ribbons. Phryne slid her thumb over the image. It was the only picture they had of Janey.

«I really wish I had been there», Margaret said, «finally being able to give her the proper funeral we had been wanted for so many years», she sighed. «But the doctor saw it best not to, fearing the bronchitis could turn into pneumonia with the cold sea air». It was her turn to dab at her eyes. She knew it had been beyond her, but Margaret felt tremendously guilty for not having been able to lay her daughter to rest. Guilt and that she had failed Janey once again – first by not having been able to protect her from that monster and then by not being by her side in the end. She had had a Memorial Service held for Janey that day and another one when she was recovered and could attend it but it had felt like such a vacant gesture, sometimes Margaret had even regretted it.

«I know… and if there's any way for her to, Janey does as well», Phryne said, putting the frame back in its place and sitting by her mother, covering her hand with one of hers. «I took some roses from those you planted when you were fifteen to her grave».

«Thank you», Margaret paused. «I can hardly believe those plants can still bear flowers».

«Aunt Prudence wouldn't have it otherwise. She tends to them herself», Phryne said with a smile.

«How is she? I have been getting her telegrams and her letters, but I know her. I'm not sure she's telling me the whole story. Poor Prudence. Arthur was a darling man». Margaret wrote to her sister often, trying to comfort her with the feelings she had gathered from the awful experience they now shared of having lost a child.

«She's doing better. It's all still very raw but little by little she has been able to go back to her life. There was that incident with the house being turned into a clinic, but everything is settled now. Aunt Prudence was lost, but she's back on her feel now. You know she can't be quiet for long».

«Oh, yes. My sister had always seemed powered by some inner train – this sounded so strange, but I guess you get what I mean. Thank you for being there for her. I'm sure Guy loves his mother but he's so scatter-brained, I don't know if he would have been able to handle things like you have. Don't tell her I revealed this, but Prudence is really glad to have you in Australia.»

«Sometimes we can't see eye to eye but we care about each other».

«Indeed. I would have loved to see her face when you told her you'd become a private detective though», Margaret chuckled.

«Shock at first, but my skillset has been very useful a couple of times and I think all is forgiven now», Phryne said with a smile.

«Aren't you ever afraid?», Margaret's tone was much more serious now.

«There's no time for that. Only afterwards. I like what I do. It's not something I sought, but I like to see justice served and to help people. And I'm careful, don't worry», Phryne said, decoding the look in her mother's eyes before she could even say a word.

Hewitt came in with tea. He put the tray on the side console and after laying a pristine cloth on the centre table, proceeded to place the tea set, fine porcelain, and napkins in front of them. In his early-thirties, with dark hair and hazel eyes, Phryne recognised him, but had known him by a different name.

«I hope you still like Black Tea», Margaret said. Her tone had become agreeable and light but she feared she might do something wrong that would drive Phryne away. From what she had gathered, her daughter's move to Australia couldn't be hung on one cause only, yet she didn't want to feel they had drifted so much apart she wouldn't no longer be aware of Phryne's such elementary like and dislike anymore.

«I do, I do… And after such a long day it will taste even more divine», Phryne said with no insincerity on her part. Her mother was doing her best to put on a calm and at ease front but Phryne had been observing people for a long time to be able to read beyond that, a skill fine-tuned by her detective work.

Margaret picked up the delicate porcelain pot. «Would you prefer it strong or weak?»

«Strong, please. And with some milk and two sugars».

She prepared a cup for her daughter according to Phryne's indications and handed it to her and then got one for herself with one sugar instead of two. Meanwhile, Hewitt had returned with a curate displaying finger sandwiches, scones, and chocolate and orange tea biscuits on each dish and a jam and cream silver server embossed with the Fisher coat of arms. Normally, the complete silver tea set only came in full parade when there was certain company, but Phryne wondered if her mother – she doubted her father would want to get included in such procedures – had had to sell them to try to save bigger things like the houses.

«Where's Nicholls?», Phryne asked after a sip of her tea, inquiring about the thin tall man who had always been the Fishers' butler, «Everything is alright with him, I hope».

Margaret put her cup on the saucer, took a deep breath and laid them on the table.

«He's in Brentby», there was no way to escape the matter any further, Phryne would know eventually, « the house has been let to an American family for the shooting season and most of the staff is there as I was able to convince the Stricklands to pay their wages. It's curious how the Americans wanted to be independent from Britain so vehemently but some are willing to come here and pay to play at all they despised», she smiled weakly to try to lighten the situation.

Yet the truth was that every step of the way had pained Margaret immensely: the discreet enquiries for someone interested, the paperwork, the countless meetings with the solicitor, packing the things she didn't want to leave behind but trying to not make it seem she had moved everything to the locked part of the attic to avoid having the tenants think she might not trust them, trying to navigate the situation with the staff in a way that didn't reveal the depths of the troublesome money issues which had led her to resort to such measures, wrapping her mind around the fact that soon there would be strangers in her home and sleeping in her bed. Margaret had changed houses plenty of times in her life but, having left Australia so long ago and no matter how much she enjoyed the time spent in London, Brentby felt like her true home. The big windows facing the garden and letting all that bright, beautiful light in, the comfortable and spacious rooms with their curious trinkets and pieces of art, the curtains, fabrics, cushions, and furniture she had chosen to complement the heritage she had found there, the canopy bed which was the most soft and heavenly she had ever slept in. The struggles, tragedies, and heart-break that had happened in her life brought a layer of guilt when she felt it, but Margaret longed to be back every day. How strange it was not to being able to return to one's home when one simply wanted to.

«So your father and I have moved here for a time. We brought Hewitt – you may remember him from when he was a footman, he got promoted to under-butler some months after you… went to Australia – a cook, and a maid. It will do». Margaret tried to imbue some courage in the tired smile she addressed to Phryne and picked up her tea again.

Phryne looked at her mother closely now. Normally, she cut an effortless stately figure but Miss Fisher could discern how much of a performance her mother was putting on due to the way she held her shoulders and her head and how she controlled the necessary movements to use the teacup. There were more wrinkles around her features than those two years alone could carve and while she had tried to cover them with some make-up as best as she could without looking gauche and inappropriate, there were dark circles under her mother's eyes. For someone wearing a copper silk velvet dress and sitting on a deep green sofa, Margaret seemed to blend with the background instead of standing out, as those colours were bound to do.

«Is there… some way I can help?», Phryne said at last. Part of her didn't want to get embroiled in another mess of her father's making, but she couldn't sit idly considering what her mother had been enduring.

«Oh, no, dear Phryne», Margaret patted her daughter's hand, «That's a very kind offer but everything is settled for the time being. Mr Brooke and Mr Richardson have been very helpful and we have already seen some results of our effort and Aunt Prudence's loan is helping to bridge the most urgent gaps. I want to believe the worst is behind us so far and that I'll be able to pay her back very soon. »

«Aunt Prudence asked me to tell you very clearly that there is no expiration date for the repayment», Phryne said sympathetically, but a wave of rage had exploded in her chest. In the month and half that her father had needed to get to Melbourne escaping his actions and tying even more money he barely had to the McKenzie Cavalcade of Mysteries, her mother had not only been left behind but she also had to attempt to straighten up all the messes her husband had made and to repair their tattered finances.

«Where is Father?»

Phryne had been hungry and looking forward to remedy that with the delicacies on the tray but she was no longer able to summon any appetite.

«Asleep. Leave him be, Phryne», Margaret said. «It's probably best this way. I'll talk to him after dinner».

«He can't go on behaving like this». Phryne hadn't seen Henry since he had rushed through the front door. She could picture him probably nursing some rediscovered bottle of his 'nerve tonic' to make up for the ones she hadn't let him drink during the trip, going as far as throwing them overboard in spite of his 'pleas'. «It's enough. While annoying, his mistakes had been mostly foolish and embarrassing but this is gambling with your lives», her voice had risen almost without her noticing it.

«Don't be so hard on him. I have been giving him several pieces of my mind already. I'll keep an even closer eye on him from now onwards, don't worry». Margaret was trying to be reassuring and while she wouldn't publically agree with Phryne that vehemently, fearing it would only deepen the rift that had always existed between daughter and father, she did concede that Phryne was right to a point.

«I know you love him, Mother», Phryne pre-emptively offered the words she knew Margaret would say, «but that can't mean you give him  _carte blanche_  for everything. Since you met him, your life has been riddled with recklessness and financial upheaval. It may sound callous, but I don't know how our family would have managed if this barony and the money that came with it hadn't fallen out of a string of single or sickly children and the Boer War into Father's lap». Miss Fisher took a deep breath to pace herself.

Margaret didn't say anything, remaining still, the teacup and the saucer in her hand.

Phryne put hers on the table and touched her mother's wrist.

«I am not blaming you. I want to make that perfectly clear. You have always done your best for this family, tried to keep the pieces together... I just wish Father would be responsible for his actions, but, as much as it pains me, I'm afraid it may be too late. Besides, isn't there a way you can be in charge of money and all the assets? You clearly mange them much better».

Margaret's eyes brimmed with tears. She hadn't let herself cry over this ever since Henry had turned to her in bed eight months ago and said "Darling, I'm afraid there are some money issues", choosing to keep her head down and focus on what she could do not to revert the situation (that was basically impossible) but to amend it the best she could. After numerous meetings with Mr Brooke, the trusted solicitor, pouring over property and land deeds, asset inventories and documents enough to cover the long dining table at Brentby, they had come to a list of measures they could undertake, property that could be either let or sold, stocks, machinery, jewellery, pieces of art the Fishers could part with without denting the family's heritage and heirlooms more than what was strictly necessary. Henry hadn't exactly been helpful but he hadn't been much of a hindrance either, thankfully, protesting about the sale of some things more out of pride than actual fondness or importance but signing everything he was asked to. Apart from his escape to Australia, obviously. That Margaret hadn't been able to forgive yet and she wasn't sure she would in the foreseeable future, despite her love for him. Henry had always been flighty but he had been by her side when it truly mattered, like when Janey had disappeared, Margaret had had to deal with the death of her estranged parents or when they had been mad with worry as Phryne had gone to war and were unable to locate her. Otherwise, his charm and the love that linked them would probably not have been enough to keep them together for so long; this had been the most terrible blow to her trust. At first, while they didn't talk about it more than necessary, Margaret had been able to draw some comfort from having Henry nearby, but when he had absconded to Australia she had felt disposable, lost, adrift, and angry.

Out of shame, she hadn't been able to talk about the full extent of what was bothering her with anyone. Her friends had tried to cheer her up and be as supportive as best as they could in light of that they did know, but something was lacking and while he was informed of the whole scheme and had been their solicitor for ages, Margaret wasn't exactly going to confide her most inner thoughts to Thomas Brooke.

Margaret had received the news of Henry's return with a mixture of longing and bitterness. She loved him but that anger hadn't subsided yet. She had been obviously glad to see him again, hold him, and hear his voice but she also had had to make a great effort to welcome him without snapping until they were alone.

Henry had seemed happy to meet her again, embracing and kissing her tenderly, his 'better half', as he called her sometimes, yet apart from a gentle twinge of regret, he didn't seem particularly repentant or fully aware of what had happened while he had been gone and that had hurt her even more. Fifty years with him had shown her Henry's incredible power of compartmentalisation but he couldn't be that oblivious, could he? She wanted to believe that his reticence to look directly at their daughter meant that he was ashamed of the terms of his return at least and not simply because he was "so tired, I think I'll fall face first in bed without even knowing how", that the bath she had had drawn for him could provide him with some time to think things over.

Lady Fisher took a deep breath that was meant to help her gather her bearings but she couldn't avoid the tears that kept rolling down her face.

«I am sorry», Margaret said, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the napkin. It was hardly polite and even less lady-like but her fingertips were no longer enough.

Phryne shook her head.  _Not at all._ She patted her mother's shoulder tenderly.

«Thank you for being here and for bringing your father back home. I truly appreciate it and it can't have been easy for you». Margaret wanted to add that Phryne didn't have to, even if only out of politeness, but both knew that it had been the only way. Otherwise, Henry would have probably jumped ship in the first port where it had docked and they would still be searching the world for him.

«I am glad to have been able to help  _you_ », Phryne said, discovering that it was so indeed, in spite of soulfully missing Melbourne and everyone and everything she had left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my contribution to April's Challenge of MFMM Year of Quotes.
> 
> Thank you for reading the first chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it. I have to confess I don't know how many more there will be but I think it isn't going to be novel-length. Given that April is basically over, you have the first two chapters and then I'll continue writing it and posting it in May (two simultaneous fics, yay/not yay). For some reason, this fic hasn't been very easy to write and has even thrown me into a particular pit of frustration I don't think I had been in since 'Angry, Half in Love, and Tremendously Sorry', in spite of all the work put into the other fics that came between them.
> 
> I think I had mentioned previously that while I know that book!Phryne is 20 years-old or something, I cannot picture her so in the current universe I'm familiar with because in my head Phryne looks like Essie Davis (which doesn't mean that I can't picture a young Phryne but it takes place earlier than 1929). In light of this, I adjusted the timeline and, as presented, these Fishers inherit the title and the money not in the aftermath of the Great War but of the Boer War. Technically, it should be called The Second Boer War, since there was a first, but given that it is much less known, the later takes 'precedence' and has come to be known simply as that. It took place from 11 October 1899 to 31 May 1902 and «was fought between the British Empire and two Boer States, the South African Republic (Republic of Transvaal) and the Orange Free State over the Empire's influence in South Africa». (Let's give it up to wikipedia for this brief synopsis).
> 
> Chester Square is one of the three garden squares built by the Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the 19th century. The Grosvenors still owned (and own many of) the houses and let them under long-term leases. It is and was an upscale area and the garden isn't open to the public. You have to live there to get a key and there's a strict set of rules one must obey.
> 
> I know there's a mention of the 'Norfolk House' in the show, but I'm afraid I tinkered with things a bit and that's why I ended up giving the Fisher's both the London house in Chester Square and Brentby (name of the house) as their country seat.
> 
> You may have gotten more Margaret than what you were expecting, but so did I. As I wrote, I just found myself slipping into her perspective and what she might have felt among all that turmoil. (Also: Henry is still the worst).
> 
> I must also make a note about the title. I don't think I had ever heard that word until I read it a couple of days ago in one of Zelda's letters that feature in «Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda - The Love Letters of F. Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald», edited by Jackson R. Bryer & Cathy W. Barks (which I fully recommend btw, particularly as, so far, it has much more letters by Zelda than by Scott and it's a very interesting insight into her personality and life as well as her writing, and her perspective of their relationship).I had been struggling with a title basically since the beginning but when I read that word it was almost like the proverbial lightning thing.
> 
> Thank you again for reading this and the following chapter. Your feedback is appreciated as always.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Phryne had decided against letting her father ruin tea and had eaten eagerly. Those scones might not have been made by Mrs Harlan's hand, but Mrs Swanson had been a dutiful apprentice and they tasted very close to how Phryne remembered them. She was slightly nauseous, in fact, given the nearly obscene amount of them she had indulged in but she couldn't say she minded it and there was a particular joy in the way she climbed the stairs to the upper floors. She didn't even feel like spoiling it by knocking on her parents' room door to confront her father and continued upwards to hers.

After more than a decade of sharing close quarters with her family, just the thought of an entire floor for her had been enough to boggle her mind when the Fishers had come to London and she had been shown to her new room. By virtue of having been the long gone dowager Baroness', it had a massive Gothic Victorian carved bed with so many finial "spikes" pending from the canopy it reminded Phryne of a carnivore plant ready to devour her as soon as she laid on it and a red damask wallpaper that could have perfectly been modelled after the room that had haunted Jane Eyre's childhood. Phryne hadn't particularly liked either, actually deeming them 'horrid', but those particularities hadn't been enough to dull the fact that that room was hers and hers alone (she had obviously wished Janey could be there and have hers too).

Soon, the undesired furniture had been moved to storage and given way to a pale green Art Nouveau set with elegant and delicate irises carved motifs much more in line with her preferences and the offending wallpaper had been replaced by a Morris brighter floral pattern with cheerful light blue, pink, and yellow flowers blooming from green stems. Back then, Phryne had congratulated herself on her sophistication and now she must admit that her girlhood room had aged well. After all, her current bed in Australia was also of a lighter Art Nouveau style.

On the bed, there was a pair of silk robin blue pyjamas with long sleeves and a velvet kimono, surely bought by Margaret anticipating that Phryne might not be ready for the colder nights she would meet in England. The affection Phryne felt for her mother tugged at her again. She might not consider herself Jane's mother per se and their approaches to parenting might differ, but the good things she did practice, Phryne recognised she had learnt from her.

Phryne was looking forward to getting updated about Jack, Mac, Dot, Aunt Prudence and the rest of friends in Australia through the pile of letters and telegrams presented on the desk by the window, but she would do that before sleep, when she was finally settled.

She sat down on the bed and looked around. How many letters had she written at that desk, how many books had she read sitting on the armchair by the window, how many times had she laughed and cried into those pillows, how many dreams had she dreamt in that bed, how many confidences had she exchanged with friends in that space. And yet, between boarding and finishing school, the sojourns at Brentby, the war, Paris, and the flat she had rented after her return to London and now Australia, she hadn't actually slept that many nights in this room. It had been hers in the sense that she had inhabited it for periods of time, but when she was away, it wasn't the image that came to her when she thought of «my room». Truth be told, she had never had a very definite picture to attach to that notion – it usually depended on where she was and where she was supposed to sleep that night. Even when she was in the war, 'home' never conjured Chester Square or the golden stone of Brentby in particular, just some place away from the bleeding fields of the Front. It could seem quite exciting sometimes, but, while not often, it also made her feel dislocated and adrift, like she didn't belong anywhere yet she also didn't belong everywhere.

The soles of her boots tapped on the well-polished wooden floor. No one would guess that there was only one maid responsible for cleaning the house now but that was probably the core order she had been given.

Phryne went into the dressing room. How marvellous and sophisticated just the thought of one had seemed and she must admit she missed it a little now. Maybe someday she would overcome her annoyance and distaste for all the fuss attached to building works and have one made in 221B. It was covered by the same wallpaper than the room and had a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a full-body mirror, and a dressing table from the same set as the rest of the furniture. There was also a Victorian chaise longue with its original wood frame and wheels she had coveted from one of the guest rooms, specially upholstered in rosewood pink velvet at her request.

There was a nearly empty bottle of a perfume she didn't wear anymore on the dressing table alongside a beautiful set of silver brushes and a hand-mirror she had always deemed too beautiful to actually use. She touched each item, trying to remember when it had been the last time she had done so.

Phryne's tour through the many drawers resulted in a couple forgotten or discarded things. The wardrobe was practically empty too. Most of the clothes, shoes, and other accessories had either been retired for good, stored, lost, given away, or shipped to Australia, but there were two boxes with which Phryne hadn't known what to do so she had left them there. One of them contained her Court Presentation dress, a silk garment of simple but elegant design, a reminder of a night which had been interesting yet the actual courtesy to the King the most underwhelming part of it all though. The other held the infamous 18th birthday dress which also represented her first couture gown, a pause in Margaret's discomfort about spending money on clothes after so many years of mandatory economy, and Phryne's first visit to Paris – also the occasion where she had been taken so much by the city, she had decided that she would live there someday.

But those were objects intertwined with particular memories. Did it mean that by keeping them there Chester Square was her home?

Phryne took a deep breath. She didn't know why she was fussing over this matter so much. Perhaps it had to do with the context of her return to London. When she had gone to Australia, she hadn't vowed to never return again, she actually liked the place, but she had always thought that it would happen when she wanted to, not in an unwished moment and tied to one of the people had had always most driven her to go way.

Besides, there was Jack. Their kiss on the runway had been hanging over them for quite a while and Phryne believed it would have happened eventually, particularly after he had admitted his 'romantic overture'. She wasn't a woman of many regrets but now, with a clearer head, she did wish it hadn't taken place on the brink of her departure. There was some romance in parting ways at such a moment, but it also felt like too big of a step to leave things unresolved like that. But maybe having this time would be good to think everything over. Phryne was deeply scared of hurting Jack somehow and someday, particularly considering how he had opened his heart to her and her own regard towards relationships in the latter years – after all, it had been her own blind trust in love and in René and the awful turn it had taken that had led her to that stance. Phryne couldn't lose Jack both as a friend and as romantic partner. They had had their grievances about this and they hadn't even acted on their feelings yet. It wouldn't get any easier from now.

There was no doubt in her that she loved him. It had been quite surprising to find so. There had been the emotional and physical connection with Lin, perhaps the closest thing to love she had experience since her Paris days, but while it was complex in its own right, this bond with Jack was something else. Phryne couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment it had happened, most certainly there wasn't a particular instant that marked that transition, it had been the gradual development of their flirting, their matching intelligence, their professional collaboration, their chemistry, their kiss at Café Repliqué, and the rift caused by the mistake that led to him thinking she had died – a photography being dipped in the chemicals needed to reveal what it had captured.

She had chosen to be with him. She had chosen to be with him and he had taken her wholeheartedly. The realisation made her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. As mentioned, I'll be updating this fic through the next month but I'm afraid I can't promise actual dates because this will be a post-as-you-write thing.
> 
> Thank you for your feedback and may I find you here soon.


	3. Chapter 3

                «Good morning, my dear».

                After a divine bath and in light of the long trip she had taken during the previous month, Phryne had felt too lazy to come downstairs for dinner, so this was the first time she was seeing her father since last afternoon.

                «Did you sleep well?», he asked, from the head of the table.

                «I did. You seem to have too», Phryne said, walking towards the sideboard where the breakfast buffet was laid out.

                Henry was gleefully spreading jam on a toast as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

                «But of course, dear. I’m at home at last and by my beloved’s side», he had put the toast down and looked soulfully at his wife. The Henry Fisher Apology Tour had started.

                Margaret didn’t reject him, but Phryne noticed a certain steeliness in the way she returned her husband’s gaze.

                «I see», Phryne said, putting a dish with some blackberries and grapes on the table and sitting down at the vacant place.

                «It’s so wonderful to be back. “The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as well for his defense against injury and violence as for his repose”, after all», Henry continued.

                _If that’s so, then why did you run away_ , nearly jumped out of Phryne’s mouth but she forced herself to bite her tongue. Her father was a cultured man in his own way, yet Phryne would wager he had learnt that particular quote by heart, ready to deploy it as soon as he saw fit, and the gesture grated on her.

                Margaret took a toast from the rack that Hewitt had brought to the table, poised as if she hadn’t heard a word.

                «I’m going out to get re-acquainted with London after breakfast and I was wondering if maybe you would want to come with me?», Phryne asked, looking straight at her mother. It might not be the most polite behaviour, but Henry contriteness wasn’t doing him any favours.

                Her father seemed eager to answer, but Margaret anticipated him:

                «Thank you, Phryne, but I’m afraid we can’t. Mr Brooke is coming to luncheon and we still have some things to go over before he’s here».

                Margaret wasn’t particularly keen on playing the nagging wife, but Henry couldn’t leave that house until they had set their affairs straight. After the genuine embrace upon their reunion, the strain between them had been unavoidable. At first, the expected fatigue had kept them from talking and then at dinner Henry had eaten ravenously, praising that no food in the world could compare to those vegetables and lamb on his plate until exhaustion. She had simply replied «Thank you, I’ll let Mrs Swanson know», but his suggestion of going to the club «to meet the old chaps again», he was still in Australia time and not sleepy at all had made her set her foot down:  

                «We are in this… muddle because of you. You got to escape once, Henry, I will not stand by and try to sort it out by myself again.»

                And so Henry had stayed in and Margaret had slept very poorly, something she was trying to counterbalance with the strong tea in her cup.

                «Go and have fun, darling», Margaret said before taking a sip of it. «And don’t worry», she continued, even before Phryne could say anything else, but her face seemed to have rendered those words useless.

                «Yes, at another time, dear», Henry said, as charmingly as he could. He wasn’t used to having to abide by responsibility, but he didn’t want to lose Margaret too. His attitude may seem do indicate otherwise but he did love her.

                The rest of the meal threaten to drag under the kind of tension Phryne had vied to avoid so it wasn’t long before she was out the door, eating a slice of cake as she walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this (small and mostly place-setting) chapter. I have been both busy and tired, so writing hasn't happened much but I hope there's still some interest in this story.
> 
> The quote parroted by Henry is by Sir Edward Coke, at least as far as the internet has told me.
> 
> Hopefully, the rest won't be so painful to write, but what do I know. I have the plot points clearly on my mind, but getting from point A to B to C hasn't been easy. 
> 
> Thank you for the feedback received so far. Let it be known that it's always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

At first, Phryne had thought about taking the underground but the thought of feeling that she was always in someone's way wasn't something she missed very much and Selfridges wasn't that far anyway.

While she had her own money, it had felt in poor taste to mention it considering the perilous financial conditions of her parents but Phryne was impatient to get out of her flying outfit.(Due to the lack of a warmer coat, wearing her pyjamas as if it were a glamourous suit wasn't exactly practical). She guessed she could have borrowed something from her mother for that day at least yet she longed for something new and more 'her'. Waking up in London had been strange enough, even after a month of waking up other places other than Australia, and she didn't have the time to wait for custom pieces so ready-to-wear would be perfectly suitable.

Phryne wasn't exactly a woman of clichés, but there seemed to be no other way to describe the weather but 'crisp', she thought, as she approached Grosvenor Place and the Buckingham Palace Gardens. Sun streaked from behind the clouds and the air felt more invigorating than cold somehow. She arranged the scarf around her neck and continued walking as she took in the noisy traffic, the hurried pedestrians, and the green treetops beyond the wall on her right. There was a certain comfort in covering that familiar ground, greeted by the memory of having done the same with Diana, Amalia, Maud and Louisa, of the nerves about being presented to the King and Queen at Court without falling and making a fool of oneself as ridiculous as the whole affair might seem, of how they breezed through the garden parties thrown there, excited about life, their new dresses, sharing those hours with each other, flirting with whom they felt like (and who might not be exactly who their families were envisioning) and scandalising others by being favourited by princes and other titled or titled-to-be who had been deemed someone else's ideal match.

She smiled at herself. Miss Fisher didn't dwell much on the past, but it was slightly more difficult not to when it had been that pleasant and apparently made even more so by the war that marred it afterwards and the fact that Amalia had died of the Spanish Flu ten years ago.

Nevertheless the busyness and the central role of those streets in the city covering it, London seemed duller than when she had last been here, the looming end of the post-war prosperity had come to form meanwhile, boosted by a difficult context and the Great Strike of 1926. It was hitting the north of England and Wales harder but the thought of the many people afflicted made her heart twist and yet she couldn't help but be carried by the good memories made over the years at the same times. The contradiction made her feel ashamed although she had lived enough to uphold the importance of the happy moments one did have among the darkness of some daily lives. That's one of the hardest things of being human, Phryne thought, having to deal with all those contrasts without being crushed under it all and/or going mad.

Phryne walked into Hyde Park from under Burton's Ionic Screen and her mind flashed to picnics and walks and the elaborate scavenger hunts which had taken place around those places on foot, by motorcar and public transportation as she made her way through it.

In that moment, Phryne felt she had lived a lot. Many chapters, spread across many countries, and populated by many people. She guessed that being alone at last and in that simultaneously familiar and strange environment had unleashed all those reflections, the long trip to London having had been occupied by keeping both the plane and her father up in the air. Henry might have been a bit regretful when his return to England had become a  _fait accomplit_ but as the month went on, he had retreated into his irresponsible and sleazy ways, trying to snake his way out of Phryne's supervision. They had quarreled often and there had been days when they had barely talked; if they had done so beyond the strictly necessary words, things would have soured even more. If not for the promise Phryne had made to Aunt Prudence, her mother, and, even in a way, to herself as well as her own persistence, she would have given up. It was all coming too close to her childhood patterns for her to be comfortable with it. 'Relief' could hardly cover the feeling which had taken over her when she had landed the plane in English soil at last. She would still have to endure the car ride until Chester Square, but she could do that.

People walked by and looked puzzlingly at her, remarking on her particular outfit. Usually, Phryne wouldn't care about it but she preferred to be the centre of attention when she chose to and this circumstance made her feel uneasy – she felt very vulnerable in that moment.

Soon she was in the known streets of Mayfair, strolling alongside the imposing red brick buildings. The swirl of traffic in the intersection of Oxford, Orchard, and North Audley Streets felt like an odd balm and she felt more like herself when she walked into Selfridges. Phryne absolutely loved to have adventures in remote places, but she also liked to pamper herself.

Light chatter filled the store and saleswomen moved briskly behind the counters. Phryne browsed around looking for new red lipstick, rouge, and perfume, given that those she had brought from Australia had barely been enough for the trip.

Pleased with her purchases, Phryne caught a lift and asked the operator to take her to ladies' fashion. The girl politely said 'of course' and Miss Fisher was soon amidst the most fashionable garments of the season.

She planned on shipping clothes ahead if there was any need, but she still tried more outfits than those she meant to buy out of sheer fun. And oh, what fun it had been. She hadn't shopped by herself in a while but it didn't hinder her enjoyment. In the end, Phryne chose a black, white and red tweed skirt-suit with a long coat trimmed with a fur collar and a white knitted blouse. She wore it right away with a felt black hat with a matching silk ribbon and two short feathers in the back and black leather shoes and handbag, having her shopping and her flying clothes to be delivered at Chester Square so she could carry on with her day unencumbered. Perhaps a bit too dark, but it was autumn in London, it was bound to be a bit darker than what she had been wearing so far.

After an invigorating cup of tea and slice of cake at the roof terrace as well as a bit of rest to recover from the walk there, Phryne decided to make her way back to Oxford Street through the stairs.

When she reached the men's department, she meant to keep walking, but a rack of ties caught her attention. At first, she walked surely to it. In different colours and patterns,  _those were beautiful ties_ , she thought as she looked at them and there was a dark green one with burnt orange squares she could see appealing to Jack a great deal. She paused. Would it be too forward of her to get him a gift? It wasn't even a question of price because it wasn't expensive – she was particularly aware of how their financial standings could bring some pressure at some point even if it had never been an issue so far (but they had never had to reckon with it yet). It relied on the act itself. Her previous doubts crept up again and she felt at sea with all the newness of the situation. But she had been the one to come away. Phryne didn't feel the need to compensate for it, but it did seem to tip the scales a bit.

She bought the tie and had it gift wrapped. Phryne would still have some time until she came by the post office if she wanted to ship it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this new chapter.
> 
> While I don't call it like that, I took the liberty of including Phryne among the 'Bright Young Things', as the tabloids called the famous group of young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London. They were quite out there, throwing fancy dress parties, intricate nighttime scavenger hunts around London, and taking full advantage of the decade's mindset. Cecil Beaton, the Mitford sisters, Noel Coward, Freda Dudley Ward, and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon were some of its members.
> 
> Despite the many times I mention it, I'm not exactly trying to advertise Selfridges. I included in the story because it was quite something in the landscape of London's shopping not only due to the imposing building (which design was only completely finished in 1928) but also in terms of marketing and sales practices. Example: for long, make-up was considered quite scandalous so it was thrown in the back of shops, respectable women weren't supposed to wear it after all. Harry Gordon Selfridge scrapped that and put it front and center right on the ground floor, the first thing customers would see, setting a template that was followed by department stores back then and which is still adopted today. Publicity events like the display of the first plane to cross the Channel or the development of elaborate and eye-catching windows were also other examples of this new approach to shopping. Willing to attract the young clientele, Selfridges strived to have the latest trends available and to make shopping there an experience (something that had been the foundation of its marketing strategy since the beginning). The terrace did exist and held a «a mini golf course and an all-girl gun club» (thank yo, wikipedia) and was also the set for fashion shows. The ornate lifts were quite something to behold and became so iconic that there's even one on display at the Museum of London (after they were taken out during refurbishments in the 70s). The fact that they had female operators was also newsworthy at the time since it was basically unheard of.
> 
> For Phryne, I borrowed a Lucile Paray outfit from a 1929 L'Officiel de La Mode article and made some tweaks to it. (Thank you, internet for digitalised archives)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm afraid I still have some things more to develop though.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated as always.


	5. Chapter 5

Phryne shielded her eyes with her hand when she resurfaced at street level from the Russell Square underground station. The morning clouds had vanished meanwhile and now sunshine poured over the street.

Given that she was carrying two small volumes, Miss Fisher carefully fetched her sunglasses from her handbag, put them on, and stepped onto the pavement.

She had always been partial to Bloomsbury, finding it airy and spacious, with all the squares and the trees, a feeling conveyed by how the name itself rolled on the tongue. It sounded like a breeze escaping through the leaves, she thought, taking it in once again as she walked under the yellowed branches of Russell Square.

With money not being an issue and a good name to her (yet slightly burdened by her singleness to some eyes), London had completely been at her disposal when she had decided to find a flat for herself upon her return from Paris. Phryne quickly chose that area, spurred not only by its actual features but also by the multifaceted arts scene, which reminded her of Paris' in a way, even if, truth be told, they weren't that similar.

While she had been to war and lived in foreign countries, Phryne had never lived alone in circumstances that could be deemed ordinary and she was looking forward to it when she moved to that flat in a Georgian building in Bedford Place.

Well, not completely alone given that a maid came daily to cook and take care of house chores, part of the arrangement made with her landlord, her actual employer. Peter Harrington was a young man who had come to a house divided in two apartments for the children of the family but with his unwed brother buried somewhere in Belgium and no will to sell, he had sought for a tenant among the friends of his friends.

Phryne looked at the building from across the road. She wondered if Peter still lived there and concluded he probably did. Yet while she would like to meet him again, in this moment she preferred to thread undisturbed over her plentiful memories of having lived there, recalling the layout of the large rooms with tilled fireplaces that stood beyond those sash windows, furnished with Harrington heirlooms she hadn't minded much because while she wanted her own space, she didn't want to be burdened by movables and fittings and such circumstances were perfect for her. The Harringtons being people of good taste had helped, obviously. She had attempted to convince Peter that it made no sense for him to take the downstairs flat, but he hadn't budged. His had always supposed to be that one and taking over what was supposed to be John's made him feel much more discomfited at home than what anyone could want.

Her eyes started to prickle but she smiled. It was to be expected, Phryne acknowledged, even if her trip to Bloomsbury hadn't been undertaken as some step in a personal pilgrimage. Once she had been at street level, she had felt she couldn't simply make her way towards her real destination without dropping by Bedford Place if only for a couple of minutes - it was so close (which had been one of the definitive advantages of that house back then). Overlooking it felt wrong somehow.

She tried to make out if someone had taken the flat, but with the sun hitting the windowpanes it was difficult to ascertain what might be going indoors. In the end, it didn't matter, did it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I'm afraid this story has been going for a little longer than what I had predicted but there are so many details that end up making an appearance in my head.
> 
> I'll post a new chapter right away.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and are still interested in what is coming up. Feedback is appreciated as always.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Phryne could hear steps coming down the stairs, her anxiety increasing proportionally to each beat.  _This is ridiculous_ , she chastised herself but looked around nevertheless, hoping that the pleasant atmosphere of Doughty Street would help her calm down.

The door ahead of her was opened at last, revealing a woman close to Phryne's age wearing a grey smock and an equally plain scarf on her head, the edges of a brown fringe and bob peeking from underneath.

«Surprise!», Phryne said, an enormous and heartfelt grin on her face.

Diana's blue eyes brightened with recognition and happiness.

«Phryne Alexandra Fisher, you minx», she said, mischievous, before enthusiastically hugging her friend.

Seeing and holding Diana shattered that odd anxiety immediately and Phryne was back to her normal senses at once. London seemed to be tampering with her in a very particular way, but she would attempt to parse that later. Now, she would relish in her friend's company unabashedly.

«Do come in. What are you doing here?», she continued, fondly putting an arm around Phryne's shoulders and leading her towards the stairs. It wasn't her friend's first visit, but it had been so unexpected, Diana was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Phryne was actually there, in her hallway. « I mean… you know what I mean.»

«It's a long story, but I thought I'd be able to tell you over a cup of tea and these», Phryne said, raising a box of chocolate truffles. «I hope I didn't interrupt anything», she added, meaning Diana's work clothes.

«If you had called three hours ago, you'd probably end up dying on that doorstep, but I was just cleaning up now», Diana said, as they kept going up the stairs.

«Even if you knew I'd bring truffles?»

«I don't dabble in the occult, I'm afraid, but since when did I say no to truffles?»,

Phryne laughed as Diana closed the door behind them and they both walked through the hall of her flat.

Divided into kitchen and parlour by a wooden arch, the front room was painted in dusky blue and the large windows were garnished by bold floral curtains.

The textiles and the colours made it feel tremendously cosy and lived in. The geometric spread over the sofa in front of the fireplace, the embroidered pillows on the two leather club chairs, the upholstered ottoman where the grey tabby Shakespeare was sleeping warmed up by a patch of sun, the shelves nearly overflowing with books, the Chinese rug which tied everything together.

It was nicely balanced by the dark wooden furniture and the black and white photographs adorning the walls, taken by Diana herself and developed in what had once been a tool shed on the roof terrace and which she had laboriously converted into a functional dark room in spite of its small size and odd placement.

Diana had always been fascinated by images and soon took to photography, starting with a Kodak 3A and moving onwards as technology and fancy lead her. She brought a camera with her nearly everywhere she went, capturing almost anything that caught her eye, so she changed the photographs on display rather often. At the moment, they featured photos of elaborate shoes and of a woman's football team, training and playing.

«That's the Preston Ladies», Diana informed, removing the scarf and the smock upon noticing Phryne's particular interest. «Well, officially because most people still call them the Dick, Kerr Ladies. That ridiculous FA ban may have taken its toll, but they keep on playing», she continued admiringly, smoothing her moss-green dress with her hands. «I'm working on a series about women's football in Britain, that's the first set».

«'Football is unsuitable for ladies'», Phryne quoted. She might not be as knowledgeable about the sport as Diana but news of the team's progress were discussed from now and then at the Adventuress' Club and they were held in great regard for that. «It seems that for some people ladies' health and constitutions are only suitable for marriage and child-bearing and rearing».

Diana scoffed in agreement from the kitchen. The kettle was already on the stove.

«They can play rings around some men's teams out there and that's what they can't take. It was all good, healthy, and wholesome but once it got too popular it was just a futureless novelty. Fulham wishes they had Lily Parr. The last seasons would surely have been way less pathetic», Diana said angrily while she set the table for tea. She got easily invested. Fostered by her father, excited about this increasingly popular new game, Diana had learnt to love football from an early age and she had followed the rise of women's football during and immediately after the war with great enthusiasm and praise. She had actually sent a flurry of letters to the Football Association contesting the ban over the years. «I'm sorry, I guess I got carried away. My Father and I argued about this just last week and I guess I still had it running inside. In fact, my mother has forbidden us from discussing this  _particularity_ of football so our debate got curtailed sooner than what I wished it to.»

«Nonsense», Phryne replied, sitting down. «Knowing him, I'd wager Colonel Chapman is a firm supporter of the ban».

«Obviously», Diana said with a chuckle, lighting up a cigarette. «He can tolerate ladies watching the game as long as they aren't too boisterous or call attention to themselves, but playing? Heavens, no! I think he was actually shocked when he read about it in the paper and he was in the trenches».

Phryne laughed and opened the box of truffles, stretching it out for Diana. «And how has he taken the news that you're living with your fiancé? Proper congratulations on that, by the way».

«Thank you», Diana bowed her head, taking a truffle out of the box. «With relief, I guess? At least now there's a promise and a proper title to attach to Simon. It's still scandalous but it was even more before when we were just two immoral people». She laughed.

« Very thrilled nevertheless, certainly».

« How couldn't he? He loves that I work and earn my own money, that I go out whenever I want to do whatever I want and be with whoever I want. Besides, I had the audacity of leaving his house before getting married. He's very proud of his only daughter. I'm sure he has clippings of Vogue stored away in his desk», Diana offered sarcastically, expelling a puff of smoke. «But enough of my father. What are you doing here?»

Diana rose from the chair, picked up the kettle, and started to prepare the tea.

«I'm afraid we can't leave the theme of fathers behind completely», Phryne said with a theatrical shrug, «I'm in London because of mine after all».

«You brought him back ». Diana's mother, Irene, had been a girlhood friend of Margaret and when the Fishers had relocated to Europe they had been gleefully reunited in Britain. Neither mother nor daughter betrayed their respective friends' confidence but Miss Chapman knew enough to be aware of Henry's unforeseen trip to his homeland.

«I  _had_  to bring him back. It's more accurate that way», Phryne said with a sigh, eating a truffle afterwards.

Silently, Diana put her cigarette down and poured Phryne's tea without needing to ask any questions to know how she took it.

«I'm sorry you had to go through that», she said, her voice full of sympathy. Diana might not see eye to eye with her father most of the times, but he would never do something like that and – even worse – expect her to pick up the pieces.

Phryne nodded and for a while she unburdened herself from most of the frustration and anger that she had been storing for that month. There had been a couple of moments where their trip had come close to being a bonding father-daughter adventure but most of the time it had an exhausting trip and not only due to its logistical characteristics.

«And now? Is there any plan?», Diana asked.

«I don't know», Phryne shrugged, «my parents are in a meeting with the solicitor as we speak. We'll see what comes out of it but even if there's something akin to a solution to the formal issues, I don't think my father is willing to actually do something to change, you know, to grow. He practically swore he would try to make up for his mistakes and rise to occasion but I had to keep him in my line of sight every time we landed and even so he still managed to get involved with dodgy characters and once I had to actually pull him away from a craps table in the middle of the street», Phryne took a deep breath. «As much as we wished, we can't keep him locked up at home».

«If you need something, just ask, do you hear me?», Diana wanted to help Phryne but she couldn't think of much to say that would be of actual use.

Phryne smiled, thankful, and put a hand on top of one of Diana's.

«Thank you. This helped».

«Anytime», Diana smiled. «And even better if you can bring truffles».

Phryne chuckled and reached out for one. «They're good».

«Divine, right?», Diana said mid-bite, covering her mouth with the free hand. «Listen, it's a bit melancholic, but would you like to go to Simon's operetta or something? Take your mind off things.»

«I'd like that. Maybe it will be cathartic», Phryne let out a small laugh. «What is it?»

«Bitter Sweet by Noël Coward at His Majesty's. We could have dinner first and then go?»

«I'm not sure if I'll make it in time for all that though. I did buy an evening dress today but I had my purchases sent to Chester Square», Phryne said, counting roughly the time she would need to go and come back.

«I can lend you something, if you want. You've always been the best dressed of us, but I want to believe you'll find something in that large wardrobe of mine», Diana offered good-heartedly.

«I'm sure I can. You're not a shabby dresser either», Phryne said truthfully. While the girls of their friend group all enjoyed fashion, it was accurate to say that Miss Fisher had been the one who dared more.

«I'll telephone Simon and see if he can arrange two tickets for us», Diana said, getting up from the chair, meaning to walk towards the hallway.

«You haven't changed: you still invite first and hope it all goes well afterwards», Phryne said, laughing.

«You know me», she replied, picking up the telephone.

Due the commotion, Shakespeare had woken up from his nap and was looking at Phryne now, his attentive green eyes seizing this stranger.

«Look at you. You grew up quite a bit since your master brought you home when you were a tiny little thing born in an alley behind the theatre».

The cat stretched, jumped out of the ottoman and went to Diana, tracing eights around her ankles.

 

xxx

 

«You can wear anything you want», Diana said, pointing to her jewellery box and the drawer where she kept the costume pieces. «Well, except this one, it would be odd», she continued humorously, putting it on her left ring finger.

«Do show», Phryne asked with genuine curiosity. She might not be very inclined for marriage herself but she always appreciated beautiful jewellery.

Diana stretched out her hand. It had a round a blue zircon set in filigreed platinum shoulders. Simon had chosen well - the stone was a close match to Diana's eyes.

«It's a very elegant piece», Phryne complimented.

«And zircon is both our birthstones, which was a nice touch».

Phryne nodded.

«Just to think you didn't take to each other very much in the beginning and now you're set to marry». Miss Fisher laughed avidly. It wasn't that new of an occurrence, but it still amused her, particularly considering that was also how her first interactions with Jack had gone.

«What do you want? It's not my fault that he came across as a pompous actor the first time we met», Diana said, shrugging, and arranging the sparkly headband on her dark hair. «And how about you? There's any gentleman with whom you have been getting along?».

Phryne was uncharacteristically silent for a moment.

«What? Did you think we would only be talking about me? Telegrams are very practical but also very limited. Is there indeed a gentleman with whom you have been getting along? Is the Selfridges package currently on my kitchen table meant for him?», reflected on the mirror, Diana's eyes gleamed with mischievous curiosity.

While she believed Mac had an inkling about how she and Jack were beyond the flirting stage, Phryne had never openly talked about him in those terms and even less so ever since their passionate kiss at the airfield. Miss Fisher didn't exactly publicise her adventures, but the complexity and intimacy of their relationship seemed to make it somewhat difficult to talk about it, almost as if it were blasphemous?

«There's someone, I admit. But that's everything you're going to get from me», Phryne said, not yet sure if she was talking seriously, putting the second earring on.

«Alright. Apart from his name, where did you meet and who he is I wouldn't dream of wanting to know anything else», Diana said, taking a black velvet evening coat from the wardrobe to see if she liked to see it with the black dress with embroidered abstract floral motif around the hem she was wearing.

A smile dawned on Phryne's lips. She swallowed dryly and ran her hands over the blue velvet and orange chiffon dress Diana had lent her. They had ended up having toast and scrambled eggs at home before storming Diana's wardrobe to change into their evening clothes and it had been much more pleasant like this.

«His name his Jack, we met in Melbourne, and he's handsome, intelligent and witty», Phryne said succinctly.

Diana smirked and put the coat on.

«There's vague and then there's your answer».

«Excuse me, my dear friend, but I replied to your three questions. There was no particular instruction regarding the answers themselves. And now, would you be as kind as to lend me a coat I can wear?»

«That's what I get from trying to interview a detective. I should have known better», Diana handed her the matching blue velvet coat.

«Yes, you should, but I'm glad I can teach you, Miss Chapman».

«Thank you. It's very magnanimous of you, Miss Fisher».

Phryne and Diana laughed heartily. Those two years in which they hadn't seen each other felt like not a minute more than two hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it even if I ended up throwing another OC at you. 
> 
> Maybe because we know so little of Phryne's time in London, I seem to fill those blank spaces with probably more headcanons that what you bargained for. I hope I can convey them in a compelling way at least that makes reading the story more pleasant.
> 
> Historical notes time:
> 
> Even if you don't care about football, do read about the Dick, Kerr Ladies (later Preston Ladies F.C.). It's such an interesting story - women's football had already appeared before, but it rose during WWI as women started working in factories and most of the teams came out of that environment (something that had already happened and would continue to happen with men's teams). The Dick, Kerr Ladies were called so after the munitions factory at which they worked. They were extremely popular and even played abroad, including an American tour (they played 9 games against men's teams: 3 wins, 3 draws, 3 defeats).  
> At some point the Football Association (FA) decided to be garbage and enforce the ban Diana and Phryne discuss in the story for the reasons mentioned - among other of equal ridiculousness . It was only repealed in 1971 (yes, you read it correctly) and banned women's teams from «using fields and stadiums controlled by FA-affiliated clubs for 50 years» (thank you wikipedia). It curtailed women's football severely but some teams were able to carry on in spite of the difficulties, like the Dick,Kerr Ladies.
> 
> Lily Parr was basically the star of the team and showed sports abilities since she was very young. For instance, in her first season she was only 14 years old and scored 43 goals. She played until 1951 and «she was the only woman to be made an inaugural inductee into the English Football Hall of Fame at the National Museum of Football». 
> 
> To read more about the team, check dickkerrladies (dot) com
> 
> I made Simon Wallace intrude in Noël Coward's operetta, but it was indeed called «Bitter Sweet» and, at the time, playing at His Majesty's Theatre (now Her Majesty's Theatre) and was very popular, running for over 600 performances. 
> 
> Thank you for your time and attention. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too and may we meet around here soon. Feedback is appreciated as always.


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